


Turning the Page

by telemachus



Series: Rising-verse [49]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Books, Elfling, Gen, Libraries, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/pseuds/telemachus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Halls of the Woodland King, there is a library, of course. A great library, with many books.</p>
<p>Who reads them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning the Page

_Second Age_

 

“What is in that room, Ada?” the elfling whispers, intimidated by the miles of underground passageways – after all, he has never been in a building of any kind before, and this – this is the palace of the King.

Finbonaur shrugs. How should he know? He is only a hunter, an ordinary elf, he does not know all there is to know of this great Hall, but before he can remind his son to stay close, and silent, that little elflings should be seen and not heard, he is distracted by the welcome sight of his brother.

For a moment the elfling is admired, his ears touched, his shock of fiery hair praised, then he is forgotten as the two brothers speak fast and excitedly of all the decades they have been apart.

And so there is chance for an elfling to wander, to sidle, quietly, quiet as only an elfling can be, towards those great doors, left half open, and to look, to slip inside and stand, silenced by the sight.

Row upon row of shelves, shelves as tall as – not as tall as a tree, not in this Forest, but – shelves taller than Ada – and each one with books. Those are books.

In each book must be – words.

Words of songs, perhaps, elves love songs. Or tales. Or – or of places far away that none he knows have seen. 

Silently, silently, the elfling steals forward, and puts out a finger; touches, very gently, the spine of one book.

“Caradhil!” 

It is his uncle’s voice – he knows it, so like his father’s it sounds – elves have a good ear for such things. 

And there is a hand on his shoulder, heavy, forceful, dragging him away, and out into the corridor, and then further, to a corner of a room – and his uncle looks from one to the other,

“Tor-nin, did you tell the child nothing? Has he no sense? He was touching a book – in the King’s library. The penalty for such things is – great,” his uncle is panting in fear, in horror.

Caradhil looks at his father, his father who loves him, who is never cross without reason, who he trusts above all others.

And his father shakes his head slowly in dismay,

“I thought not that it needed saying. He cannot read – will learn only as you or I – enough to understand his orders, no more,” and Finbonaur looks at his son, some fear for his wayward child in his eyes that it will be many years before Caradhil understands, a fear that is not merely of the wrath of Oropher, but – of the strange fates of elves who do not conform, “we are hunters, that is all we need. You are too curious, Caradhil. It stops, now. You need not ask questions, you need not wonder. Learn what it is good for you to know, and trust in those above you for the rest.”

Caradhil loves his father.

He nods, and for many years he tries to obey.

 

 

 

_Fourth Age_

 

Unsure, the elf kneels before this new King, awaiting some punishment, so unpredictable as he still is.

“You are Perflas, librarian to the King, as your father before you?” and as the elf nods, unable to speak, the King – the King smiles and stands, “then you will show me this library. And – Perflas – we will speak together of ways to encourage my elves to come here, to read, to learn, to enjoy. No longer is this a royal collection – it belongs to the kingdom, to all,” a sharp look, and the King – the King twitches his nose with amusement, “I am Caradhil. This, first, I will do.”

.


End file.
